Inferno
by TresMaxwell
Summary: Dustfinger/Farid PWP I thought of after I watched the movie. This is a semi-AU about how Farid could have learned how to create fire so quickly.


I've never read the books, but this little PWP popped in my head after I watched the movie the first time. Before you say ANYTHING concerning the plotline of the book and the fact that this situation couldn't/wouldn't/shouldn't happen, I have no idea what else happens beyond the movie and I really just wanted to write, so if you don't like yaoi or slash (aka a man with another man) go find something else to read.

Genre: Inkheart (movie)

Pair: Dustfinger X Farid

Rated: M for relatively graphic sex, so if you're under 17, bugger off.

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"Teach me Dragon's Fire."

Dustfinger swore that if the boy had said it once, he'd said it a hundred times. He'd been trying to ignore the persistent request but the repetition was beginning to wear away at his not-so-unbreakable resolve. It wasn't just the fact that Farid asked about it every ten steps, it was the way he asked him, with his dark eyes bright with curiosity and hope. Dustfinger couldn't even look at him anymore for fear of doing something very stupid.

There was only one way to 'learn' Dragon's Fire, and, though Dustfinger had no complaint about his experience, it really wasn't for everyone. It did create a certain kinship between master and student, but the fire juggler wasn't so sure he wanted that kind of kinship with the small Arabian that had dropped into his chaotic story. His life was complicated enough without adding something else into the mix.

"Please teach me Dragon's Fire," Farid asked again, leaning around Dustfinger to get his attention. The Arabian's brow titled upward, a smile shining on his warm face.

Dustfinger's stomach twisted into a tight knot and he looked the other direction, trying to avoid those inquisitive eyes.

"Please?" the young Arabian moved in front of the fire starter, shifting back and forth as Dustfinger looked anywhere but at him. "Please," he drew the word out, stressing the middle and the 's' a bit more than necessary.

Fed up, the juggler stopped walking long enough to give Farid a hard glare, "You don't know what you're asking."

The cute grin didn't fade and neither did his persistence, "I do. I want to do what you do." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them fiercely and blowing on them like he'd seen Dustfinger do time and again.

Despite his irritation with the whole thing, the fire juggler found himself smiling at the impersonation. He did it himself, fiery warmth blooming between his hands. A small breath on the warmth turned it into a smoldering heat.

Farid's eyes sparkled with the crimson glow, "Yes, that."

Dustfinger crushed the embers between his fingers and brushed by him, "You don't need that."

"But!" he had to jog to catch up to the fire starter's quick pace, "But I could help you with things, help with the fire."

"You're going to help me catch things on fire?" Dustfinger scoffed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Why do you think I need help doing something like that?" It took him several paces before he realized that Farid had stopped walking. With a heavy sigh, Dustfinger turned to access the damage he'd done.

Farid had shoved his hands deep into his pockets and was staring off into the woods. It looked very much so like the boy was trying not to pout, his lip quivering just slightly. Dustfinger cursed under his breath.

Hearing the string of frustrated words, Gwin wormed out of the bag slung across the juggler's shoulder and situated himself around his master's neck. The slender marten nudged Dustfinger, earning a quick scratch. "I think I'm digging myself into a hole Gwin," the fire-eater muttered to his pet. The creature squeaked in agreement while attempting to nibble on the fingers rubbing him.

Dustfinger glanced through his hair at the sulking youth, feeling the tiniest stirrings of guilt. Not sure what the fuss was about, Gwin leaned around his master's head to look too, just to be sure he wasn't missing anything.

"You really want to learn Dragon's Fire?"

Farid's head snapped up, a nearly childish grin cutting his face in two, "Yes!" His excitement was detectable in the way he bounded back to Dustfinger. "I promise to be a good apprentice, to listen well and learn quickly," Farid gushed, unable to hold back his enthusiasm.

"Alright, alright, calm down," the fire starter chuckled. Earning Dragon's Fire was not an easy task, but he wasn't quite sure how to break that to the puppy-like young man bouncing around him. Dustfinger continued to stroll, running possible explanations through his head.

"So, how do I start learning?"

There was the first problem, "You don't really learn Dragon's Fire, it's more of a matter of transfer."

Farid's head tilted to one side, adding to the puppy image, "Transfer? Meaning you have to give it to me?"

_In more ways than one_, Dustfinger thought with a slight grimace. "Sort of, but it's not that simple." There was no way he was going to help the Arabian understand in this mild conversation, so he switched gears, "Did you ever sleep with anyone when you were back in your book? You know…" Dustfinger hesitated, not finding an appropriate word for it that wouldn't be terribly crude.

Farid filled in the blank, "Had sex?"

"Well yes, have you ever had sex?"

Curly black hair fell across the younger man's face as he turned his gaze to his feet, "I told you I was raised by bandits and thieves, they would sometimes use me to pass the time."

"Shit," Dustfinger spit, wishing he hadn't brought it up.

Farid grabbed the corner of the fire-eater's jacket and pulled hard enough to make him stop walking. Dark eyes sought light, trying to look into them. When the Arabian couldn't get Dustfinger to meet his gaze, he spoke anyway, "But it would be different with you I think."

"It's not something you want, so what would make me different from them?"

"Because I'm not a child anymore, I can decide for myself." Farid gave him a reassuring smirk when he finally raised his eyes, "I would learn Dragon's Fire that way?"

"It's the easiest way, yes," Dustfinger admitted slowly.

He didn't want to be the reason for a rise in unpleasant memories and he definitely didn't want to hurt the beautiful boy, but Farid didn't seem to be against to the idea. Far from it in fact, as his agile hands slipped inside Dustfinger's jacket.

"Teach me then."

The fire starter's breath caught in his throat when the Arabian's deft fingers made quick work of his belt. "Wait," the word rolled off his tongue without any brothers and sisters, though it was meant to have a few others with it. Before he could find the lost words in his mind, Farid had rid him of his jacket and satchel. He managed to force the escapees into a sentence after a few moments, "Wait, are you only doing this because you want the Fire?"

The younger man paused to study Dustfinger's face. Indecision flickered across his features, dancing with confusion and lust until a grin pushed them all aside, "Yes and no. For the Fire and because I think you would be a good lover. For both."

Dustfinger's eyebrows raced for his hairline at 'lover'. He'd never heard that description used for him before, not even by his wife. The thought of her soured the idea of giving his abilities to Farid. He was beginning to doubt that he'd ever see her again, but there was a tiny shred of hope that was still willing to sing for him.

"What about you? What reason do you have?" Farid's voice broke into his thoughts, bringing him back to the fact that the boy's hands were halfway inside his shirt.

For a second, Dustfinger's mind was blank. He couldn't think of a single answer for why he would want to do this, to commit sodomy with a boy that was far too many years his junior. Then, like a spark that took to kindling, it came to him, "I miss being loved."

It had been far too many years without knowing anyone's touch that this exuberant youth was welcoming. He hoped it was answer enough for his conscience as well as Farid.

Understanding welled in the Arabian's obsidian eyes, confirming that he was satisfied with the response and, like so many times before, Dustfinger decided to deal with his conscience later.

Snagging the front of Farid's shirt, the fire-eater led him off the well traveled path they'd been following and into the woods. His gaze flicked over the dense scrub brush, hunting for a good spot that would hide them from any prying eyes as well as be relatively comfortable. He settled on a patch of bare earth beneath a tall stand of evergreens and spread out his coat.

Gwin took the cue and jumped from his shoulder to disappear into the woods for which the juggler was silently grateful. It was difficult to get rid of a marten if they didn't want to go.

When Dustfinger turned back from preparing their nest, Farid had stripped out of everything but his pants and was waiting with his arms crossed over his bare chest.

"It's cold," the Arabian chattered softy,

Considering the young man was from a book set in one of hottest deserts in the world, Dustfinger understood why he'd consider sixty degrees cold. To him, the chill was just a minor annoyance. The fire juggler settled back on his jacket and extended a hand to Farid, "You won't be cold long."

"Is this how you learned Dragon's Fire?" the dark-haired boy asked as he folded gracefully to his knees.

Dustfinger didn't answer for a moment, busying himself instead with the feel of his apprentice's skin. His fingers traveled slowly up the younger man's arm, across the swell of his collarbone, and down the smooth planes of his chest.

Farid jumped as the touch moved across his ribs, "That tickles."

"Sorry."

Curiosity about the origins of Dustfinger's power still dug at the back of Farid's mind, but he didn't want to break the sort of trance the fire-eater had fallen into. Dustfinger seemed to be lost in the sensation of touch, his eyes half closed as his hands continued to explore Farid's skin. The Arabian wasn't sure if the heat rising where Dustfinger touched him was part of the juggler's magic, or something else entirely, but he determined that it could continue into eternity and he wouldn't mind.

After dozens of quickening breaths and an uncountable number of heartbeats had passed between them, Dustfinger raised his eyes, "Lie back."

Farid did as he was told, watching intently as the juggler made quick work of both pairs of pants and tossed them out of the way. He didn't like being half naked in the cold and liked being completely naked even less, but Dustfinger's body was covering his a moment later and the cold was quickly forgotten.

The best the fire-eater could do to prepare the boy was a little spit, though that would be the least of his concerns once he got the transfer started. Dragon's Fire was an unforgiving ability that liked to remind it's wielder that an inferno will always bite someone who strays too close. Dustfinger doubted that warning the persistent boy would do any good.

Farid took to being breeched well enough, his brows knit at the sensation, but he made no sign for his new lover to stop. Dustfinger added another finger with the first to try and stretch the tight muscles before he moved on. When the pain faded from Farid's expression, he withdrew his hand.

"Ready?"

"I think so," the answer was breathed with Farid's exhale.

Dustfinger ushered the boy's arms above his head and locked fingers with him, pressing their palms flush, "This will hurt, do you understand?"

With eyes squinted firmly shut, the young Arabian nodded.

"And Farid," Dustfinger paused until Farid dared a peek at him, "You must be brave. If you fear the fire, you will never control it." With that, he pushed inside his young apprentice.

As the pair rose and fell, their cries echoing in the dense forest, a spark ignited in their hands. At first, it was a small glow that could barely escape from between their fingers, but it grew quickly. The glow became warmth and the warmth became heat and it wasn't long before Farid's hands began to burn. The pain grounded the body-racking pleasure that was arcing up his spine in waves, the pain made the pleasure real.

The balance was beautiful.

Soon though, the heat ceased burning and began to scorch. Tears rolled down Farid's face as their joined hands burned as bright as a bonfire in the dead of night. The pain grew until the Arabian thought he could bear it no longer.

"It hurts," he gasped, trying to unwind his fingers from the juggler's, trying to escape the fire, but Dustfinger wouldn't release him.

"Be brave."

He silently wished he could give the boy mercy because he knew the agony that the Fire wrought, but they'd come too far to go back. The narrow chest beneath his own began to heave with sobs and Dustfinger knew he'd have to give the boy more than just a few trifle words to pull him through, "Farid, look at me."

Farid didn't acknowledge that he'd spoken. His skin was ashen and slick with sweat, his eyes screwed firmly shut against the onslaught of pain.

Keeping his pace, Dustfinger leaned in to touch his lips to the side of his apprentice's face, "Farid, don't let it win. Look at me."

Slowly, the boy's dark, obsidian eyes turned to lock with Dustfinger's unwavering gaze.

"You're almost there."

Their stare didn't break, even as the fire became an inferno that threatened to swallow them both. The flames ran through Dustfinger like a living, liquid beast that coiled in his insides and exploded in a million sweltering tongues. He screamed his release loud enough to scare away any remaining wildlife in the area, dragged on as Farid's muscles tightened around him.

Exhausted, Dustfinger collapsed on the young Arabian long enough to catch his breath. He had enough sense left to roll to the side so he wouldn't crush his smaller lover.

Farid peeled their hands apart and sat up, staring in wonder at the soft red glow his hands had retained, "It worked."

Between gasps for air, Dustfinger grumped, "Of course it worked." The scowl he'd attempted for the comment broke apart into a reassuring smirk. He reached up to brush his fingers across Farid's jaw, "They'll keep hurting today, but it'll be gone by tomorrow."

Farid dropped his hands gingerly into his lap, the question entering his expression before he voiced it, "Is that the way you learned Dragon's Fire?"

"Yes."

"But you said it wasn't the only way."

Dustfinger sighed and swept a roll of his jacket beneath his head, "I did." Seeing that he wasn't going to be rid of the boy's curiosity without an actual answer, the fire juggler sat up as well, "The sex isn't all that necessary. I asked my teacher about it one day, and do you know what he said?"

Farid shook his head, his dark hair falling into his face.

Dustfinger chuckled and pushed a few stray locks behind the boy's ear, "He said that there was no point in going through so much pain without there being something to distract you from it."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

For a moment, the younger man stared down at his newly infused hands before a mischievous grin broke across his face, "Now you must teach me how to spit the fire."

Dustfinger groaned and fell back to the earth.


End file.
